Voltron One-Shots
by ADemonInATeacup
Summary: Pretty much just a bunch of angsty klance with every chapter titled with some obscure name following down the alphabet. !WARNING¡ Triggers for self-harm and suicide in the second chapter (Hoping I manage to write 26 of these now.)
1. Arcane

Often, I am upset,

That I cannot fall in love,

But I guess,

This avoids the stress of falling out of it.

~Mounika, Cut My Hair (feat. Cavetown)

"Lance, LANCE!" screamed Keith, running over and dropping to his knees next to the blue sniper after decimating the rest of the Galra droids. Lance smirked at him before grunting as more crimson fluid oozed from between his cupped hands and his wound pulsated, the purple tinge becoming brighter every minute that passed. The rest of the team gathered around the pair as the Cuban lay on the floor, gasping out shallow breaths, Shiro sending a message to Coran and Allura to set up the pod.

"Heh. I... guess I... beat... you." Lance heaved out, dragging a smile onto his face as his wound leaked more and more, creating a dark pool around him. "Look... you're... crying." The Cuban lifted his arm slightly, forefinger pointing at Keith's face. Said boy roughly dragged his gloved hand across his face, furiously scrubbing away the salty trails, before he leaned down to Lance.

"The Princess and Coran will be here in a tick, just sit still." Interrupted Shiro, scarred face creased with worry. Lance smirked back at him before opening his mouth - most likely to attempt some snarky retort along the lines of 'It's not like I could go anywhere' - before deciding that it wasn't worth it, his attention instead drawn back towards the pale boy staring at him with wide teary eyes.

Keith had moved from his previous position at Lance's side to behind him, swiftly lifting the boy's head and placing it in his own unarmoured lap. The brunette lay still, too tired and too in pain to care that the one he had always called his rival was stroking his hair and humming a song; a soft one that Lance didn't wholly recognise. Slowly he drifted into a pain filled slumber, unconsciously flinching as Keith lifted him, carrying him to the Red lion to fly him back to the castle as it drew close.

Keith was scared. No, not scared, Keith was terrified. Terrified of Lance dying, terrified of his feelings, terrified of many things. He paced around the ring of pods, repeatedly rubbing his hands up and down his arms before he went back to standing before the only pod which contained a living being. The noirette paused for a moment before sinking down to the floor, his back hitting the cryopod whilst his head dropped between his knees.

Earlier, Shiro, Allura, Pidge, Hunk and Coran - everyone - was there, checking and watching Lance as he recovered, all slowly disappearing until the only person left was Keith. Said boy sobbed into his own arms as he hunched in on himself in an upright fetal position, protecting himself from the world. It had been a whole week since the battle, a whole week since Lance had been talking and laughing, and Keith had been a wreck ever since.

Suddenly, Keith felt the pod behind him shudder, ready to spit out its occupant. Feeling the pod start opening up, the dark-haired boy stood up, almost running in a circle before shaking as he stood before the pod. A hiss escaped and the cryogenic layer vanished, a fully healed but freezing cold Lance falling into his waiting arms.

Hot, fresh tears began to run down Keith's face as he hugged the Cuban to him tightly, barely allowing him to breathe, the salty tears dripping down his chin and onto his fellow paladin's back. The slowly rousing boy in his arms snuggled into him as Keith pulled Lance even close to his hot body.

"I love you, Lance." he whispered as his tears slowed, a smile appearing on his face for the first time in a week. "And I hope that someday you might just love me back too."


	2. Believe

It all gets easier. That's what they all say. It wasn't like he hadn't thought of it before though. That's why he was back there at the bridge.

After their return to Earth, everyone save for Keith and Shiro who only had each other, went home to their families. It had only been a few years since they'd left, the majority of the paladins around the age of twenty. Lance had gone home, happy and excited, to a destroyed family. His parents were divorced, one of his sisters dead and the all blamed him for 'abandoning' them. It wasn't like he'd meant to do it. But now his was ignored and disowned, kicked out onto the streets with nothing but a backpack of clothes and a few hundred dollars in his pocket. They'd never fully loved or needed him in general, Lance mused, he was just there as an extra caretaker to his younger siblings, or another to load the chores onto.

It wasn't like this was anything new. He had thought about the bridge, fantasized about it before, each time stopping himself, just as he stopped the razor from penetrating the light tan skin of his inner wrist. His thighs were coated.

Lance went back to the castle-ship.

It was just as easy in space, even now when they were on Earth it was just a simple when he was in the castle. No one entered his room, aside from himself, so he barely had to hide them. Blades lay scattered in odd areas, a box - containing one, special one - in the sink, a few lying at the bottom of the draw beside his bed and even some hidden within his closet or lining of his clothing, sewn in with skills he gathered from his childhood. He'd updated his count of razors at the space market with the remainder of the money he had collected after Pidge had bought the game they wanted, claiming that he 'had to keep his beauty regime updated'. Of course, he didn't need that many disposables, let alone the set of blades he bought which came separate from any type of casing.

Now he was ready. Everything was prepared. A note and more. He was unneeded, the sixth paladin, the spare, broken cog in the machine that was Voltron. Allura would pilot Blue, Keith would want Red back after Shiro took possession for Black again. He knew it was his time.

Lance sat on the floor of the bathroom conjoined to his room in the castle, sharps scattered all around him, ignored as he searched for the one. He gave a sigh of relief as he found it, his favourite. It was a smallish blade of only around four centimetres in length and half that in width, but it had been with him since the very start. It was his first blade and now it would be one of the last. He rarely used it nowadays, it being precious, so it was shap, a slight press leaving behind a thin, shallow cut.

The cuban sighed, leaning against the wall of the bathroom, before stripping off his shirt and jeans. He would have to do it fast, as if someone found him, they could just shove him into a healing pod and get him back again, and they'd take them away and then and then and then and then...

He took a breath.

'Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.' He repeated the phrase like a mantra in his mind as he slumped against the wall, breathing slowing as his mind stopped its frantic screaming. It was time and he knew it. Slowly he brought the blade to his wrist, whispering and reassuring himself about how it would only hurt a minute - much less than what he'd already been through - and it would all be fine once that short burst of pain left. Lance decided that if he was going to go through with his plan, he would need to punish himself first. That meant he wouldn't go out with just one.

He pushed the blade in before slicing a line. Tan skin separated to show light pink fatty flesh with small drops of blood appearing at the start and end where he added more pressure. Lance repeated the action. Once, twice, thrice until he knew his blade was dull and useless. It was never sharp enough anyway.

Weeping wounds littered his body, his torso, legs and arms coated, the only space untouched his face and around five centimetres down from his hands. He was saving those for last. It was his way out after his punishment ended. His body ached as he stood up, dragging himself towards the cabinet.

As he moved, his vision blacked out before returning again after a few seconds. Faster, faster. Lance reached up to the carved box in the top right of the cabinet, taking out the only blade he had never opened. It was kept for this time. A small plasticless blade lay in the box amongst shredded paper and stuffing. It was finally his time.

Lance slumped back against the wall, wincing as he felt his blood smear against the flat metal. He positioned it, took a breath and dug into the skin on his wrist, deeper than ever before until the pain left and he felt nothing. He stared down at his pouring wrists before he realised. It hurt, oh God, it hurt so much, much more than he'd ever anticipated, oh shit, why did he do this? Big mistake, big mistake. He crawled out of his bathroom and into his room before opening his door with a red, sticky hand before collapsing as he blacked out once more.


End file.
